


Burning for His Love

by jacktheminatureslayer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bill is Headboy and Quidditch Captain, But they get better, Charlie Weasley/Linus Porte, Charlie has something of a dragon obsession, Charlie is a keeper, Depression, Homophobia, I think Charlie's friends seem like wankers when you read the first chapter, M/M, Ramblings, Smut, So many additional characters, a lot of headscarves, because I haven't the faintest clue any canon characters from this era, but i think that's canon, enjoy, headscarves because Harry Styles has gotten me into them, that's what they are, too many in my opinion, two consenting males, what even are these tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1940298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacktheminatureslayer/pseuds/jacktheminatureslayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie Weasley has a couple of problems: a complete and utter loss of interest in his studies and his beloved brother's sudden and very intense interest in his studies. </p><p>His biggest problem, however, comes in the form of an always smiling, headscarf wearing, Slytherin boy named Linus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case, a friend of mine is also posting this work on THEIR harrypotterfanfiction account. Less detailed smut (to follow regulations on the site), but the same story. (I'll put a link in as soon as I get one), but to reiterate the account and other stories are all theirs.
> 
> So, before you go and call this plagiarism, just remember: the same person wrote this.
> 
> That person is me.
> 
> But on that note, if you find this posted somewhere else besides those two accounts, let me know. Because that is definitely plagiarism.
> 
> On another note entirely, I usually write One Direction fanfiction. If you're into that, go ahead and click on my name. If not, don't even bother. I don't plan on writing anything more to do with the HP fandom. Pure HP, that is.

It is quite possible that Charlie Weasley is thoroughly buggered over. There’s no way he is going to pass this course. No possible way. Unless, of course, the god of academic plant studies flew down from his heavenly greenhouse to boop his nose with his green thumb. That’s tragically unrealistic. Almost as unrealistic as him passing the Herbology O.W.L. exam. Almost.

He drops his head to the cold, wooden surface of the library table and lets out the quietest groan he can possibly manage. Madam Pince still hears him and hisses for him to maintain his silence. Sure, he can do that. What he can’t do is stop the stress tears pouring out of his eye sockets like a make-shift waterfall.

Deciding that this is a failure of an effort, Charlie haphazardly wipes the tears from his cheeks and collects his things. He doesn’t bother putting his borrowed books back on the shelves, mostly because he thinks Pince actually enjoys organising and reorganising Hogwart’s collection of literature. Instead he drags himself from the dusty place and into the corridors.

The thing about Hogwarts is that the student population is so massive, that he never really sees the same face twice. Okay, that’s something of a lie because honestly he doesn’t even try remembering names or faces anymore. But it does still come as a shock when he rams shoulder first into an unfamiliar person and sends the poor lad to the stone floors.

“Oof!” Charlie hisses, but quickly drops to his knees. “Are you alright?” he asks the poor innocent soul he’s probably traumatised.

There are a few aesthetically pleasing features about this bloke that pop out and pound his eyes. Dimples that deepen and hide at every shift of his lips, shaggy, light brown hair pulled out of his face with a headscarf, and bright blue-grey eyes twinkling underneath the torchlit corridors.

And then a rough, high voice comes from his lips that sends Charlie into an existential crisis. “Yeah, reckon so. Just took a bit of a tumble,” the stranger says and smiles. “It’s alright. ‘M  clumsy.”

And. Hold on there mate. “Wait, I’m the one that ran into you…?” Charlie says ending the statement in a questioning tone, because everything in his life seems to be collapsing around him via dimpled smiles.

Blue-Eyes blinks. “Oh.”

Suddenly it hits Charlie that they are both still in various positions on the floor. So he scrambles  up and lowers a hand for his newly acquired acquaintance of sorts who accepts it and nearly topples over a second time in his attempt to stand.

“Sorry about that though,” Charlie says once he’s certain that the lad has both feet firmly on the ground. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

He laughs and Charlie feels like his stomach has been punched. That laugh should be stored away somewhere forever. He already knows his memory won't do it justice. “I would hope you weren’t walking about crashing into people. That’s not a very nice thing to do…?”

It takes a minute, but Charlie realises that the bloke is hinting for his name and he quickly goes to respond. “Charlie Weasley,” he says and scratches the suddenly itchy spot behind his right ear.

The bloke’s eyes follow the movement before he flashes another brilliant smile. “Linus Porte. Listen, it’s really nice bumping into you, but I’ve got some manuals due and I don’t fancy a detention over it.”

Charlie’s mind is still stuck on the verb ‘bumping’ as he watches Linus scamper in the direction he just left. “Was that a pun?” he asks the empty corridor.

He leaves without an answer.

***

The next day in Herbology, Professor Sprout gives him a very disappointed frown. Which actually doesn’t sound nearly as horrible as it was. Her whole face morphs from a happy indifferent attitude into a wrinkled, cringe-worthy frown. Her eyebrows wrinkle together creating the ultimate unibrow. Hidden wrinkles in her forehead make an appearance. The worst of it, however, is the quirk of her head that suggests she’s puzzled by the situation. Like she was expecting the best and getting the worst.

“I assigned the essay two weeks ago, Weasley,” she says slowly as though speaking to a person with the mental capacity of a garden gnome. Actually, that isn’t a very good simile. Garden gnomes are clever little things.

And he’s been putting it off for two weeks, but of course he doesn’t mention this because he doesn’t have a death wish. “I’m sorry,” he does, however, repeat.

She’s unimpressed. “Detention,” she states slowly and sadly, before turning on her heel and grabbing the nearest watering can.

Charlie pretends the whole class of students wasn’t listening in and silently judging his academic failure. Instead, he trudges back to his spot at the back of the greenhouse and pulls out a parchment to try to take notes or something. The or something wins out and he doodles a picture that may or may not be Linus. Okay, it’s Linus, but to be fair, the bloke has a really pleasant face. Much better than his best mate’s who is currently trying to nudge him to pay attention to the lecture.

“I’m not in the mood,” he says and dodges another elbow nudge.

Michael just grunts and plunges another aim at his rib cage. It makes its mark and Charlie leans forward to wheeze a breath against his knees. When he regains from the pounding in his chest, he sits up and mutters curses. Michael doesn’t look anywhere close to apologising. Just his luck really, being mates with the only Hufflepuff that inflicts pain without a second thought.

That was stereotypical and his mother would be ashamed.

For the good of his physical health, Charlie pretends to pay attention to the rest of the lecture and pounces on Michael as soon as they leave the greenhouse. “You absolute wanker!” he yells in Michael's ear and sends them both plunging to the ground.

There’s a theme happening in his life.

Michael manages to wiggle his way out of Charlie’s unforgiving hold and races away before Charlie could retaliate with the elbow-to-rib torture he experienced earlier. Charlie lets him leave and just continues to lay on the grassy ground between the greenhouse and the castle. The path next to his feet becomes deserted fairly quickly, probably because its lunch hour. Or maybe there’s a blood thirsty creature on the loose. Both work.

Eventually he does pull himself from the ground and walks back to the castle. No doubt Michael has already informed his brother of the pain in his life that is Herbology. So maybe his steps are slower than normal to put off what he knows will be another lecture this time with a range of curse words. No one can really blame him. Bill Weasley can turn from calm to horrendously angry in a blink of an eye. Something their mother probably taught him in the wee hours of the night just to combine their efforts on making his life miserably stressful. No, he is not paranoid.

Okay, maybe a little bit.

Alright, a lot a bit, but Bill’s and his mum’s angry tone of voices and word selection are achingly similar.

As soon as he crosses the threshold separating the outside chilled air from the castle’s welcoming heat he catches sight of a strange scene: Linus eating alone on a staircase sporting  Slytherin robes on his person. Linus' whole body seems to brighten as soon as he line of sight lands on Charlie in all of his chapped-lipped, wind stained cheeks, and rosy nosed appearance.

“Hello!” his voice echoes loudly and he drops his plate of food in favour of running over, stopping just a meter away to wave awkwardly. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’ve got a bruise on my rump that reminds me of you,” he says quite seriously and Charlie has to blink several times to make certain this is real life.

“I remember you,” Charlie informs him, eyes drifting from his crinkled nose up to his deep green headscarf that matches his robes. There’s even a little silver snake pattern.

Linus smiles and claps happily. “Brilliant! Do you happen to have an extra quill? I’ve seemed to have misplaced my own.” His whole body transitions from giddy to absolute distress. That has Charlie flinging his satchel open and throwing three quills at his ridiculous frowning face.

Linus dodges the attack of quills and bends down to pick up them all up, returning two, but placing the last one behind his ear. The feather of the quill seems to curl around his mess of hair and Charlie envies it. The emotion startles him, because what has his life come to where he’s comparing himself to school supplies.

“I only need one, but I appreciate the gesture,” Linus states, an award winning smile never leaving his face.

They sort of...stay like that. Linus smiling at him and Charlie unable to bring himself to look away from the smile. A small part of his brain decides that this is a mess of a problem and he should leave before this gets awkward. However, the majority of his brain is still trying to understand how Linus’ face can hold a smile for so long. Those muscles must be pained. He doesn’t want Linus to have any sort of pain. Which is also a problematic thought.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?” he blurts before his mind catches up with his mouth.

Linus blinks, his smile falters and his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “We’ve had classes this morning?” he tries to answer and smiles apologetically.

Okay, this smiling thing is becoming ridiculous. “No, I mean how haven’t I seen you before crashing into you yesterday?” Charlie explains and avoids eye contact altogether. Instead, his eyes seem to be drawn to a shiny earring sticking out of a disheveled mess of hair and scarf. An earring. Who is this guy?

Linus shrugs. “Probably because I’m in the year above yours.” He waves again. “Hello, ‘m Linus Porte, year sixth. My favourite colour is purple and I have a collection of mugs. Nice to meet you.”

Purple. Mugs. Sixth. Earring. Headscarf. Slytherin. Dimples. Overwhelmed, Charlie can only wave back and nod his head to show he heard. He blinks and Linus is frowning. Really. He went straight from a blissful smile to a hopeless frown.

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” he demands and pouts like a five year old. Even going so far as to stomp his left foot in irritation.

Is this real life or is Charlie imagining everything. “Erm, hi I’m Charlie, year fifth. I think my favourite colour is orange and I collect muggle books…?” The more he talks, the more he feels self-conscious of the rubbish that spews out of his mouth.

“Cheers,” Linus says and claps his hands again. There’s a pause and then he’s frowning second time. What is happening. “What do you mean you _think_ your favourite colour is orange? That’s strange,” he concludes sternly.

This whole thing is strange. “I don’t know? It’s just a colour. I don’t really ponder my preferred choice of colour every opportunity I get.”

Linus looks offended. Really offended. “Sorry?” he asks.

“I don’t really have a favourite colour,” Charlie repeats and worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

Linus stares at him. Really observes every inch of his person from the tips of his red hair to the worn fabric of his trainers. The scrutiny isn’t helping the self-conscious situation. Linus tips his head to the side and the tip of his tongue peeks out from his mouth while his eyes take in every detail.

“Charles, we have a problem,” he finally states his eyes finding Charlie’s own.

Charlie cringes. “Call me Charlie.”

“How is it you don’t know the answer to the simplest question, _Charles_?” Linus says with an emphasis on his full first name.

“I really don’t think that is the simplest question you could have come up with,” he defends feeling a bit offended himself. "And call me Charlie. Charles is an elderly man's name."

Linus pretends he didn’t hear that and crowds up in Charlie’s space. Nose-to-nose now, Charlie remembers that Linus is from the Slytherin house. As in the same house that he-who-shall-not-be-named and the monotone, greasy haired potions master skipped about in. There’s always been some rivalry supported off-handedly by both McGonagall and Snape between Gryffindors and Slytherins. His own parents weren’t too keen to jump on complimenting the house either. Overall, he hasn’t received good vibes on the whole Slytherin thing.

He’s seconds from ducking away when Linus does the remarkable and drops down to wrap his arms around his torso. His grip is tight and he rests his head on his shoulder, cheek to shoulder and nose nestled in the crook of his neck. His puffs of breath hit the revealed skin above Charlie’s robe.

Coming out of his surprise is a process. Like ice melting, acceptance starts from his head and drips to his toes. He returns the embrace, holding just as tightly and resting his own cheek against Linus’ head of hair. He discovers the fabric of his scarf is silky and his hair is a bit rough, but smells like caramel.

“I’m sorry,” Linus tells Charlie’s neck.

Charlie hums out in response, but Linus wiggles out of his arms with a very serious face. His lips are straight only turned down at the tips. Charlie didn’t think it was possible for Linus to find the middle ground between smiling and frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats sternly.

“For what? Hugging me?” Charlie questions back feeling off.

Linus blinks in surprise, but quickly rearranges his face back into serious mode. “No, of course not. I’m sorry you don’t have a favourite colour.”

He feels relieved for a few seconds before he’s back to square one: absolute confusion. Before he can question Linus or maybe snag another hug, Linus retreats to his spilled lunch and retrieves an apple. He smiles and waves a goodbye leaving Charlie behind.

Well...okay. Charlie turns and sees masses of students leaving the Great Hall. He puts two and two together and comes to the conclusion that lunch hour is over. He flees to charms class and resolutely ignores the churning of his stomach that must be his hunger. Must be.

***

“Where the hell were you?” Michael whisper-shouts later that day in the library.

Madam Pince doesn’t even look over. Obviously there is favouritism here and Charlie does not support this turn of events.

“What do you mean?” he asks his Hufflepuff friend with anger issues.

True to his personality, Michael grabs the nearest manual and slams Charlie’s head. Once again, Pince doesn’t blink an eye and Charlie is going to have a word with the Headmaster over this. He’s certain there’s probably something in her contract against ignoring student bullying. This is very much bullying.

“You missed fish and chips friday. You never miss fish and chips thursday,” Michael accuses and slams the book down on the table.

“Young man, we do not handle the material of this library in such a way,” Pince warns sternly before returning to whatever the hell she does. Probably origami.

Michael waves her off and turns back to him. “Look, I’m not going to sugar coat this, Charlie. I’m worried about you. You’ve been off in your own little world instead of focusing on schoolwork.”

“My own little world?” Charlie whispers back. Pince scowls at him.

“Yes! Your obsession with weird creatures. I mean, skrewts, really?” he says and Charlie opens his mouth to argue, but Michael cuts him off. “They aren’t cute. I don’t care how many times you tell me.”

To be honest, it’s been a whole twenty-four hours since he’s even thought about anything other than a certain dimpled face bloke, but he knows for a fact that Michael doesn’t know this. Opting out of defending himself and his apparent “out of it” state of mind, he grabs his thing and motions for them to leave the library. Madam Pince’s gaze follows him and he shivers at the hate he feels oozing out of her.

Michael rounds on him as soon as they’re in the corridor. “Look, you’re smart. I know you are! Why is it you aren’t applying yourself outside of Care of Magical Creatures? Seriously, we’re worried.” The ‘we’ he refers to is Charlie’s lovely brother and himself.

The answer is actually really simple. He isn’t interested and it’s hard for him to focus on things that don’t interest him. On the other hand, when he’s interested his life circles around his interest like a moth to a flame. Sometimes he gets burned. Like at this moment with Michael metaphorically breathing down his neck.

So, he lies. “The material is hard, mate.”

And that’s how he spends the rest of his night buried in books and Michael’s notes as they go over every detail of all their classes. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. He has more papercuts and ink stains on his hands than what he supposes is healthy. Can a person die from paper cuts? Maybe the ink will sink into his bloodstream from the cuts and poison him. That would effectively end the torture Michael is putting him through.

Michael Howard and him have been best mates since their first year. They bonded over a happenstance in Transfiguration that left Charlie with pink teeth and Michael with green ears. Detention was severe, but they’ve been inseparable since. Michael’s ‘we’re in school so we should be doing school’ attitude has never bothered him before, but before Michael never included Bill in his efforts to motivate Charlie. Before, Bill didn’t really care for Charlie above the simple wave in the corridors. Now Bill’s the head boy and suddenly he’s responsible for everything, including Charlie’s academic success. Yeah, he doesn’t get it either.

But sleep deprivation via intense studies has him snoring through his lectures he doesn’t have with Michael the next day. So, he supposes as he wipes the drool of his chin on his way to the Great Hall that the whole ordeal did more harm than good. There he makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while Michael and Peter argue over the best wand waving technique to use. He suggests something about how you should stick to whatever you’re comfortable with, but his opinion is thrown out of the window.

Peter Dunes is Irish and very proud of the fact. When he’s not talking about Ireland and how great of a quidditch team they have, he’s eating and laughing at whatever is happening around him. He’s a people person with a lot of friends outside their circle, but he sticks around with Michael and him for some reason. Charlie’s never questioned it. Just glad to have someone to laugh at his jokes.

In fact, Peter is laughing at his complaint about their potions course when he sees a certain yellow headscarved student pile food on his plate and exit the Great Hall as quickly as he came in. Charlie is up and out of the Great Hall without hesitation.

“Linus,” he calls out in the abandoned area he now associates with the blue eyed boy.

On the steps eating a sandwich and reading a book, Linus waves and beckons Charlie over with a finger. He only ponders how easily Linus controls him with just a finger, before he’s stumbling his way over. As soon as he’s within a meter, Linus drops everything and grabs onto his robes, pulling him down into another hug.

“Hello!” Linus giggles when he lets go. “You look better today,” he comments and picks his sandwich off the floor. He eats it without hesitation.

Charlie picks up the book and recognises the title. Its a muggle book. His surprised gasp gains the attention of Linus.

“What?” he questions looking around himself for the source of the commotion.

Charlie blushes and hands the book over. Linus takes it immediately and slides it in his satchel in one swift motion. “Have you decided your favourite colour yet?” he asks, mouth full of peanut butter and banana.

Taken aback a second time, Charlie frowns. “Is this going to be a thing?”

“A thing?” Linus asks with a quirk of an eyebrow.

“Nevermind. No, I don’t have a favourite colour yet, nor do I have plans to get one,” he answers with a slight coldness to his tone of voice. He didn’t realise how big of a deal this would be or else he’d have picked a bloody colour yesterday.

Linus smiles and flicks his ear. “Don’t be a prick. So, Charles what has put you in such a good mood this fine friday afternoon?”

And...he doesn’t really know. He’s actually been having a really poor day until now. So instead he pulls on a tendril of hair hanging next to Linus’ ear and tries to correct, “Charlie, never Charles.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you to never use never, Charles?” Linus asks sweetly, the corner of his eyes crinkling. He chuckles at his own joke and stuffs the rest of his sandwich in his mouth.

Charlie’s mouth dries a little. He’s not really certain why, but he shifts and stares at the step his feet are are resting on just below where he’s sitting.

“In all seriousness,” Linus’ voice brings his eyes his gaze back to the dimples on Linus’ cheeks. “I’m not sure if I fancy you yet.”

The word ‘fancy’ leaves his lungs air deprived and he chokes on nothing. “Sorry?” he finally gets out when his body is restored to normal. Well, as normal as it can be. The itch behind his ear tingles.

Linus waits patiently while he scratches. “I don’t like being friends with people I don’t know,” he announces once Charlie lowers his hand from his ear. “So make your argument as to why you should be my mate.”

And...yeah, he’s got nothing. He’s about to comment as such until the a ring on Linus’ right hand grabs his attention. It’s a simple gold band, but the thing that interests Charlie is the dragon engraved into the metal. “You like dragons?” he asks.

Linus blinks and follows Charlie’s gaze to his ring. “Oh,” he says and blushes. “Erm, yeah sure.”

“I hatched a dragon egg last summer,” he gushes fondly remembering the event. A neighbour of their’s heard he was into mythical creatures and invited him to witness the hatching. He’s sort of been fascinated since.

Linus looks impressed. “Good on you. Illegally?”

That question has him frowning. He’s not sure if was illegal or not. “I actually don’t know,” he answers and laughs because he might have broken the law. The thought is funny in itself mostly because the worst thing he’s ever done is kicking a garden gnome and that was by accident.

Linus smiles and places his elbows on his folded knees before resting his chin in his hands. He watches Charlie chuckle. “Dragons are sick,” he states firmly and winks. “I guess we can be friends.”

“You guess?” Charlie huffs in an effort to seem scandalised. Linus sees right through the act.

“Yup, you’re cute so I might keep you,” he says simply as though it doesn’t knock Charlie a new one. But it does and he’s too flustered to say or even do anything other than scratch behind his ear.

Of course, this is when Linus stands and grabs his satchel. Before leaving, he pulls his ring off and places it in the hand not currently thrashing at the skin behind Charlie’s ear. He leaves with a departing smile.

***

Quidditch practices are every saturday morning because apparently he’s offended some god in the past life. But that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about the arrangement, so he stomps to the pitch with crazy hair, wrinkled robes, and a firm scowl. Every other person on the team seems to be in the same mood. Good.

Bill rolls his eyes and tosses Charlie’s broom at him. “You’re late and you’ve got toothpaste in your eyebrow.”

Charlie flips him the bird and kicks off the ground. Nope, he’s not happy with this Bill situation. He’s more upset with his lack of sleep situation, but the Bill thing is irritating too. Especially since he’s the captain.

Aimee Thompson, their seeker, catches his eye and rolls her eyes at his brother. That has him smiling and ready to practice despite his still somewhat sour mood. By the end of their reps and practice game, everyone is marginally better. A few clap his back and compliment his keeper technique this season. Bill nods his head. So, Charlie takes that as a good sign and leaves the pitch with an extra hop in his step.

Breakfast saturday mornings are the least packed since the castle is full of angsty teenagers. So he piles the pancakes on his plate and drowns them in syrup. Like most of the school, Michael and Peter are getting their beauty sleep. He’s alone for a whole of five minutes before Bill slips in the seat next to him.

“Hey, how are you?” he asks rather annoyingly.

“About the same since you last saw me five minute ago,” Charlie says rudely.

Bill quirks an eyebrow. “Rumour has it you’re getting trolls on important essays.”

Right. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m your brother.” At Charlie’s scoff, he continues, “I know I haven’t been much of one until this year, but I really want you to excel, yeah?”

“How about we keep the motivational speeches where I care for them: before quidditch matches. Honestly, I don’t want or need your help,” he grits out and feels a little bad when Bill’s face falls. Just a little bit.

“Okay, but you know where to find me. Love you,” he says and leaves before Charlie vomits over him. Ew, he’s never said anything about ‘love’ before. This is a disgusting habit forming without Charlie’s consent.

When he leaves the Great Hall, he’s half hoping to catch Linus, but finds his spot on the staircase empty. Part of him knew he wouldn’t be there because of the influx of students coming and going from the Great Hall saturdays. There isn’t a schedule to follow and people take advantage of that.

He trudges disappointedly to the Gryffindor tower and finds Peter still in bed in their dormitory. Just as well, he supposes. The only time he actually wants to talk to a friend, no one is to be found. That’s a lie. He could probably find Michael in the the Great Hall about this time, but he’s traveled all the way here and doesn’t want to go back. So, he plunges into his own covers and wills himself to sleep.

That doesn’t happen. Instead, his thoughts circulate around Linus. His smiles. His dimples. His crinkled nose when he finds something particularly funny. The way he says ‘Charles’ and ignores Charlie’s attempts to correct him. Mostly, he thinks about their hug. Well, hugs, but the friendly hug yesterday isn’t what has him fidgeting in his sheets. No, the actual embrace where he could feel every part of Linus against himself like he was trying to fuse them into one person.

The surprise kicks in when Charlie actually feels himself harden in reaction to these thoughts. Linus is pretty, but so is the blonde hair, golden eyed Michael. Charlie’s never felt the way he feels now, panting and flustering, for another bloke. He hasn’t particularly felt this way for a girl either, but that’s beside the point. He knows this is wrong. He has only seen one couple of wizards holding hands and it was in Diagon Alley. People around them didn’t seem particularly happy with the display of affection and would shuffle away. Some even going so far as glaring.

No, this thing he feels--passion or lust, whichever--is not something he should pursue.

But...if he happens to sneaks off to have a wank in the shower and finishes to the thought of Linus helping him, then no one is the wiser.

 


	2. 2

Honestly, nothing compares to the sight and smell of fire. The Weasley family once took a trip out into some random forest to camp. Surrounded by trees, night sky up above, and the cackling of the fire to accompany the snoring of his family in the tent; he fell in love. It’s a love of parts. The sound of the fire is beautiful, of course. The wood popping and sizzling. The pitter-patter of ashes dropping to the ground. Yes, it’s calming. The smell of fire has also always been intriguing to Charlie. It’s a thick smell, it’s a memorable smell, but mostly the burn in his nostrils from the combination of heat and smoky scents.

 

He’s always preferred that over whatever floral perfumes or musky cologne people seem to be so fond over. Maybe he’s just different. Well, that’s a shit thing to say. Of course he’s different. Everyone is bloody different, but the point is is that he’s always felt himself never a part of “the group” (Which, what even is that? No one seems to know).

 

Maybe his mum knows that. Hell, maybe everyone sees it and he’s only just discovering it for himself. His mum, though, seems to treat him a bit more cautiously than she treats his other siblings. He could just be paranoid, but that doesn’t explain why it is that he’s the only one of the three Weasley children in Hogwarts that receives weekly, sometimes daily, letters.

 

In fact, his younger brother, Percy, seems surprised when the family owl lands in front of Charlie. By in front, he means right in his breakfast muffin. He’s been having a rough life lately.

 

“Mum hasn’t sent me anything in weeks,” Percy remarks lightly. Bless his little first year heart.

 

“That’s because she hates you,” Charlie comments just as lightly and reads what his mum has to say this very fine day. By “fine” he means horrid, but that’s a given.

 

Charlie,

 

How are you dear? Excited for exams? How’s Michael and Peter? Haven’t seen them in months. Your father is doing well. In fact, he’s been promoted! How wonderful is that? Hopefully his big head shrinks by the time winter holiday comes along, because I’ve just about had it with his talk of muggle contraptions. God only knows how Bill and you will survive it.

 

Just writing to say I’m thinking of you.

 

Love,

Mum

 

He feels a mix of embarrassment and fondness as he reads over her words. Maybe it’s the teenage hormones, but he always felt uncomfortable when people pay special attention to him. You’d think he’d get over that what with his mum always sending letter and Bill clinging onto him like a leech, but such is life. Shit happens. People have their troubles.

 

Speaking of troubles, a girl with blue hair and golden-yellow robes coughs behind him for his attention. He shifts in his bench and regards her. She’s slightly familiar, but that could be because of her hair. She stands out. That’s a rare occurrence.

 

“Sprout wants me to tutor you. Come to the charms classroom tonight at seven. Don’t be late,” she says shortly and departs as quickly as she came.

 

As he watches her go, his eyes catch on his favoured Slytherin chatting at the Slytherin table in a rather large group. Which. Strange. Charlie’s never seen him actually interact with anybody, but he seems to be in his element. Linus is laughing (Charlie can just imagine the beautiful sound), leaning toward whoever is speaking, and giving each person his full attention. He’s charming as ever, but now Charlie has proof.

 

He feels an pathetic twist to his stomach. God, he’s been overly dramatic. He knows this, but he still wishes that Linus keep that special amount of attention on him and not on apparently every single person he chats with.

 

He goes to his lectures with a sour mood.

 

***

 

“Okay, hear me out,” Peter whispers to him during Transfiguration.

 

They’re trying to transform a button into a butterfly. An emphasis on “trying.” They both can’t seem to get the button to do more than jump around on the table. Charlie thinks this is due to the fact that he hasn’t actually been paying attention to the lecture what with Peter chatting nonstop next to him about the mystery girl.

 

“She’s Hufflepuff, right?” he continues. “Maybe she just fancies you and wants to snog the hell out of you in the classroom?”

 

Charlie’s button flies so high it breaks on the ceiling. McGonagall rolls her eyes and sends a spell over to fix it.

 

“I really don’t think that’s it,” Charlie says, mortified.

 

Peter shrugs. “I don’t see why not. You’re not hard on the eyes and you’re a really talented Quidditch player. That’s all any girl cares about these days. Just ask Minnie over there.”

 

“Minnie” is trying to help a student who has somehow burned the hairs on her arms. She sends her to the hospital wing and glares at Peter, probably hearing every word exchanged. The lad isn’t being particularly quiet. Actually, Charlie doesn’t think that Peter even knows how to whisper. Maybe he should teach him.  That’s part of his responsibilities as best mate, right?

 

Peter winks at McGonagall. “See? She agrees.”

 

“I don’t think ‘snogging quidditch players’ has anything to do with this lecture, Mr. Dunes,” Minerva Minnie McGonagall states harshly as she walks over to observe their table.

 

Peter blows her a kiss and flicks his wand at his button. It turns into a butterfly. Figures. Charlie tries to do the same and his button blows up.

 

“You should pay more attention to class and less attention to pretty girls, Weasley,” McGonagall remarks before walking away. “Detention,” she adds calmly.

 

Charlie groans and bangs his head against the table. Peter pats his back consolingly. “Cheer up, mate. You’ve got a date tonight.”

 

That doesn’t help.

 

***

 

That night he walks into the assigned classroom for his tutoring session and has to drop down to dodge a book thrown at his head. He looks up to see the girl resting on top of a desk and staring at him in mild interest.

 

“First lesson: pay attention in class or else I will throw thing at you. Hard things,” she says and drops down to kick him. Her hair is bright green and spiky, her robes are mustard yellow, and Charlie wonders if this is how he dies. “Tonks,” she introduces herself. The name is familiar and then it hits him. Recognition (not another book aimed for his head). She’s in his year and in his Herbology class.

 

“Charlie,” he huffs and stands to shake her hand.

 

“Second lesson: if you’re tardy or annoying, I will flick your nose.” She flicks his nose.

 

“Bloody--”

 

She cuts off his curse with another flick. “Third lesson: no cursing.”

 

Tonks smiles all while he wipes at the pain in his nose. Maybe he should have just stuck around Michael and endured papercuts. Sure, he was violent, but it was usually warranted. Albeit, this is also slightly warranted too. Whatever, he needs to meet people that ask questions first and hit second. Yes, this is a goal he will pursue.

 

“Fourth lesson: bring me food as payment for lessons. Tea will make me happy and you want me to be happy,” she continues and walks away to the chalkboard at the front of the classroom.

 

Charlie follows and collapses into the front desk. This will be interesting.

 

“You will know so much about Herbology by the end of the month, that you will be begging me to tutor you in other stuff,” Tonks announces loudly before starting the session.

 

They start from the beginning, as in the stuff he learned his first year. He would complain, but he’s worried about getting a bloody nose from her flicks. Which happen every ten seconds when she even thinks his mind is wandering. By the end of the hour, however, they’ve gone through nearly all of last years material. He’s actually learned more than he has the previous four years. That either says a lot about Tonks or little about his ability to pay attention.

 

“Fifth lesson,” she says randomly as they’re packing up. “pop quizzes happen whenever I feel like it and are not subject to within the hour. Prepare yourself.” She leaves just as the warning sinks in.

 

He’s fucked.

 

***

 

The next few days he’s nervous as hell. Charlie is somewhat expecting Tonks to just jump out from around the corner and demand to the know the acidity level for potted devil’s snare. He’s so jumpy that when his little brother, Percy, walks over to him during dinner to ask how he’s been doing, he screams and runs away. He’ll have to apologise and explain later that he is not frightened by Percy’s face, but at the moment he’s hiding behind a tapestry.

 

Which is when Bill finds him.

 

“What the devil are you doing?” Charlie whisper-shouts, his heart climbing his throat, because he didn’t think anyone would find him here, let alone Tonks.

 

Bill gives him a ‘what is wrong with you?’ look and answers, “One, I’m not the one screaming and running away from younger siblings to hide behind tapestries. Two, your feet are poking out.”

 

Drat. He pulls himself and Bill from his hiding spot and into the corridor. That is when Tonks walks over and asks, “What year was the powdered clementine discovered to have plant nurturing properties?”

 

Charlie jumps a good meter up into the air and shrieks. Bill and Tonks watch the action with bored expressions until he calms down enough to answer with a, “How am I supposed to know that?”

 

She flicks his nose and walks away as calmly as she came. Bill looks disappointed. “1588, Charlie. How do you not know that?”

 

“What do you want?” Charlie asks because this is getting ridiculous.

 

“Do I have to want something everytime I seek you out?”

 

“Yes.”

 

He sighs, but doesn’t contradict. “I’ve just noticed that you’ve been acting strangely and I wanted to check up on you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you leaving meals early or not even showing up at all. It’s worrisome.”

 

Nope. Not doing this today. “I’ve been busy,” Charlie says and waves off his concern before turning and getting away from the unwanted attention.

 

He finds Percy shortly afterward and apologises.

 

***

 

“Do you have a favourite colour yet, Charles?” Linus’ voice calls and wakes him from his ponderings. He is laying in the spot he has claimed his own now between the greenhouse and castle.

 

He likes this spot. It’s cosy.

 

Linus’ is looking down at him with his bright smile and curious eyes. Charlie decidedly ignores the question and the lad altogether, because he feels particularly angsty today. Okay, and he doesn’t know the answer yet. Part of him thinks he should just lie and say some rubbish colour like blue or green, but he suspects that Linus would know he’s lying. That might be a thought stemmed from paranoia, but the lad has somehow made his way into even the most hidden crevices of his brain. Charlie is not amused with this turn of events.

 

There’s a huff and then Linus sits in the spot of grass next to Charlie’s laid out legs. “You’re being an insufferable prat again, Charles. Your friendship points have been removed,” Linus announces and flicks his thigh. Hard.

 

“Bugger!” Charlie shouts out before sitting up and grabbing his hurt leg. He glares at the boy who has caused the unwarranted pain, but Linus just smiles back. He’s wearing a lilac coloured headscarf today and in the sun, Charlie catches groups of freckles scattered about the bloke’s nose and cheeks.

 

“Tell you what,” Linus says and pushes Charlie’s chest to the ground. He climbs on top and places his knees on either side of Charlie’s torso while leaning forward on his hands placed on either side of Charlie’s head. From this position, his head looks directly down at Charlie’s face and Charlie can look nowhere other than back at him. He suspects this was Linus’ intent, but that doesn’t stop his heart from beating a little harder and his breaths becoming much shorter.

 

“You can regain your lost friendship points by declaring your undying love for trolls,” Linus finishes and winks down at him.

 

If he notices the flush of Charlie cheeks, he doesn’t comment on them.

 

“Are you serious?” Charlie asks.

 

“Very,” Linus responds.

 

“You think I’m keen to keep our friendship? What if I don’t care to be mates?” he asks slowly, but he knows that if Linus asked him to run around the castle in nothing but his knickers, he would do so in a blink of an eye. Linus probably knows this too.

 

In fact, he laughs as though Charlie just told the most ridiculous joke. When he finishes, he quirks his head to the side, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth accordingly. He regards Charlie with a curious once-over that has him fidgeting a bit. When his eyes return to Charlie’s he smiles again. “Are you going proclaim your love or not?”

 

He sighs. “I’m in love with…” his voice trails off when they make eye contact. Linus nods for him to go on and Charlie chokes in an effort not to say ‘you’. That would be a lie, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t possibly be in love with a boy, let alone Linus. Besides, he only met the bloke a few weeks ago. His existential crisis shuts him right up, unable to even squeak out a response for Linus.

 

Linus groans and shifts away. Charlie lets out his own groan, albeit more quiet and for different reasons. “Fine! You can be my friend again, but only because I’m bored and you’re mildly entertaining.”

 

“Thanks,” Charlie deadpans and shifts his head to watch Linus roll to his back alongside him.

 

“This is a once in a lifetime opportunity,” Linus tells the bright afternoon sky above his head before looking over and mirroring Charlie’s body position and stare. “Don’t waste it.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babe,” he tries to say with as much sarcasm as he can muster, but he falls short.

 

Linus blushes and returns to looking up at the sky. “Right. Do you happen to have an extra quill I could borrow?”

 

“You’ve misplaced yours again?” Charlie accuses.

 

“I don’t like your tone, Charles. It’s very harsh and judgmental. I didn’t sign up for this!” He pouts and kicks his foot out to hit the same spot he flicked earlier.

 

Charlie ignores the pain. “You didn’t sign up for anything. You came here in your own free will. Which. How did you find me anyway?” He doesn’t recall telling Linus that he likes to sprawl out here. He didn’t even know himself until about fifteen minutes ago.

 

“I can see your hair from ages away. You’d be the worst undercover agent,” Linus says conversationally and rolls his head back to look at him.

 

Charlie’s read a story about undercover agents for the muggle’s British government. The man was described to be suave and clever witted, both of which Charlie is not. So, he supposes his chances of becoming an agent were thrown out the window way before this conversation.

 

“But,” Linus says before Charlie can tell him how rude he is, “you’d make a very good lighthouse. Your hair reflects the sun just right. I’d be blinded if I looked to long.”

 

The word choice is very sweet, but his tone is off handed so Charlie lets go of the compliment without a second thought. “I think I could start a career as a fire hydrant.”

 

“Probably, but let’s not get our hopes up,” Linus says and dodges Charlie’s responding punch all while laughing at his own joke.

 

He shifts so that he’s laying on his stomach, nose down in the ground. The long strands of grass tickle the tendrils of hair that have fallen out of his headscarf. Not for the first time, Charlie can’t help but stare at him for no reason other than to take him in. His laugh lines, pink lips, everything. Just everything.

 

“Stop staring, it’s weird,” Linus says suddenly and tilts his head to grin at him.

 

Charlie flushes and looks away. The tips of his ears feel burned and the strange itch behind his ear returns. He scratches and leans forward to look at the orange and red touched forest beyond his feet. They aren’t necessarily at the entrance of the Forbidden Forest, but he’s closer to it than he’s ever been before, just a meter off the path that crosses between the castle of greenhouse. Most students rarely leave the path at all.

 

Autumn is present everywhere he looks. The dulled brightness of the sun. The unforgiving bite of chill in the wind. The muted scuttle of wildlife. Even the students show signs in the way their voices soften from loud, excited level to a quieter, school approved level. Jumpers are worn more often to combat the change in temperature. Charlie is probably being childish in his efforts to keep the summer spirit around by not even wearing thicker socks.

 

It is that reason that he shivers when the wind blows.

 

Linus, on the other hand, has gone beyond following the mass of students. He is wearing mittens, scarves, coats, the whole spectrum of winter apparel. If this were a race, Charlie would be last place and Linus would have beaten everyone two days before the match even started.

 

Linus does not shiver when the wind blows.

 

“How does one lose a quill so quickly?” Charlie asks the silent howls of the air.

 

Linus is the one who answers. “Do you believe in karma? The universe trying to keep order?”

 

Charlie shrugs his shoulders, breaking his gaze from a bird flying alone against the clouds to give Linus his full attention. “I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest.”

 

Linus is picking grass and creating a pile on his own stomach. “I think this is the universe’s way of informing me that I’ve found something, yeah? Lose one thing find another?”

 

“What have you found? An ink bottle?” Charlie jokes, trying to lighten the strange thickness of the mood.

 

Linus smiles. He’s always smiling, but this smile is peculiar. People describe smiles by saying rubbish things like “it didn’t reach their eyes” or “the smile brightened their eyes” or something to that effect. It’s like there’s some common knowledge shared between the whole population of english speakers that eyes and smiles are in a direct relationship. Never has he believed this to be true until now.

 

Linus’ pupils are constricted, small against the greys and blues fiber background. His eye lids are partially closed. He looks tired and alert all at the same time, but his lips are turned upward, his dimples framing them are deep.

 

Yes, his smile does not reach his eyes.

 

“Or it could be that all the birds we take these feathers from are exacting their revenge,” he drawls and turns away to add to his grass pile. He even gets a few flower petals in the arrangement. It’s a strangely beautiful contrast. Greens, yellows, whites and hints of blues.

 

“Could be,” Charlie agrees quietly.

 

In one swift motion, Linus dumps the pile on the ground, gets up, and leaves with a wave. Charlie watches him walk away while clutching the ring on the necklace around his neck.

 

***

 

“I refuse to teach you when you’re in this mood!” Tonks hisses the next night. She’s flicked his nose enough to leave it an ugly purple colour, but Charlie still couldn’t concentrate to save his life. In fact, Tonks looks five seconds away from taking his life, so the statement stands.

 

“Sorry,” he apologises flatly.

 

Tonks frowns. “You’re not, but whatever,” she huffs and sits in the spot next to his. “What’s on your mind?”

 

He blinks at her sudden concern. Weird. “Nothing.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Obviously there’s something.”

 

“I just feel a bit ill is all,” he says, trying to push off this very strange interaction.

 

Tonks stares at him until he’s fidgeting and ready to disappear from the face of the planet. After a good five minutes, she shrugs. “This wouldn’t happen to be about the Slytherin lad you stare at all the time, would it?”

 

And he’s dead. Absolutely and completely dead inside. He can see his life flash before his eyes and cringes at how boring it is. He feels a churn in his stomach and a force squeeze at his heart. That is probably karma. He’s done a hefty amount of research after his and Linus’ talk over the topic. By hefty he means next to none. Cheers!

 

When Charlie doesn’t respond, Tonks pulls him into an awkward, one armed hug that lasts way too long for his liking.

 

“I don’t care who you fancy, idiot. I care that you’re going to fail Herbology and Sprout is going to blame me. Now pull yourself together and pay attention before I knock the senses back into your boy-obsessed mind,” she says before kissing him on the temple.

 

Charlie pays attention through the rest of the hour, even if he doesn’t remember ninety percent of what was spewing out of Tonks’ mouth. As they pack up to leave, Tonks smiles and tells him that if he needs anyone to talk to, she’s willing to listen.

 

He’s more shocked than anything else. Did they just...bond? A little? He tries not to think too much about this strange happenstance and leaves to get some much needed rest.

 

He’s never felt so tired before in his life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Can we talk about how Chinus sounds like a disease or a greek god?
> 
> FYI: updates will be posted here first, because the other site is very picky (and has people read through shit to make sure it follows their regulations before they allow postings). SO GOOD ON YOU FOR COMING HERE, YOU LUCKY DUCKS.
> 
> Nothing wrong with harrypotterfanfiction.com. They have some brilliant stories, but waiting for your work to be updated when you have a set time-frame is impossible. Wait. Why am I still talking?
> 
> Thanks to soapman333 for beta-ing and stuff (you know, letting me post rubbish on their account)


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